


touch, and all the things we don't talk about

by krowbonez



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jon has PTSD, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but it's from martin's pov so it's a more detached view of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krowbonez/pseuds/krowbonez
Summary: Jon doesn’t like being touched.That’s what he’d said, fingers wrapped so tightly around his cup of tea Martin feared it would shatter, breaking the silence stretched between Jon’s slow, trembling breaths and the pattering of rain against the windows.Or, a series of events that Jon and Martin don't talk about, with touch as a central theme.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 16
Kudos: 338





	touch, and all the things we don't talk about

Jon doesn’t like being touched.

That’s what he’d said, fingers wrapped so tightly around his cup of tea Martin feared it would shatter, breaking the silence stretched between Jon’s slow, trembling breaths and the pattering of rain against the windows. 

_He’s so small _, was the first thing Martin thought, and he hated the warmth that sprung in his chest with the sudden urge to hold Jon close, because no, Martin, that was the worst thing to be thinking right now. He pushed the thought away, watching Jon squeeze his eyes shut and place his tea on the desk with awkward, forced movements.__

__“Alright,” Martin said, making a conscious effort to keep his voice light. “Is there anything I could do or—”_ _

__“I’m fine, Martin.” Both Jon’s hands grasped his hair, pulling it down on either side of his face. His shoulders were raised, but his voice was soft and far away._ _

__“Oh, okay.” Martin’s eyes were peeled for even the slightest shaking of shoulders — for any signs that Jon’s ‘I’m fine’ was any more a lie than it obviously, clearly was._ _

__But Martin saw no such thing. Instead, he only stood there for a moment longer before Jon muttered something about how both of them should really get back to work. Martin took that as his cue to leave. Well, to leave and wonder what had just happened._ _

__Because nothing happened. Not really anyway. There had been a series of little things which had somehow led to Martin standing in his boss’ (and unfortunately, his crush’s) office as said boss and crush fought off what Martin was pretty sure was an anxiety attack._ _

__It had started that morning when Martin was going about his daily routine in the archives. He got dressed and all that, then made two cups of tea. One for himself and one for Jon._ _

__He wasn’t sure when that particular ritual had started, but it was soon after Martin moved into the archives. Jon would get to work around the same time every day and mumble a quick thank you before grabbing his cup and disappearing in his office for hours at a time._ _

__But, today Jon was late for work._ _

__Or well, he wasn’t late. Today he came to work at a reasonable time which, for Jon standards, was late._ _

__Martin wasn’t going to mention it. He just fought down the worry that grew deep in his chest as he poured cold tea down the drain. This is good, he told himself. It meant Jon was sleeping in, which was good. Jon was in the constant state of needing a nap or 7._ _

__Then Tim got to the archives and upon realizing his boss was absent, laughed and told Martin he would never let Jon forget this._ _

__“Yeah.” Martin just went along with him at first, absently flipping through the statement he was working on. He needed to call a few people, ask some questions. The standard stuff. “Hey, Tim?”_ _

__“Yep?” Their desks were beside each other, and Tim leaned back in his chair, looking at Martin with a wide, lopsided grin that faded as soon as he caught sight of the other’s expression._ _

__“As funny as this is, don’t you think it’s well… weird? I mean this isn’t normal for J—”_ _

__“Oh, it’s fine.” Tim tapped on his desk one, two, three times, considering it for a moment. “Yeah, it’s all good! He probably just overslept or something.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Martin said, “yeah, you’re right.”_ _

__

__Jon got to the archives a half-hour later and Tim immediately started bothering him._ _

__It was no different than his usual badgering. It was all fun and games in which Jon nodded along, not responding unless Tim said something he found particularly deserving of a retort. Today, apparently nothing Tim said was deserving of such, because Jon just hummed in acknowledgment before beginning to stalk off to his office._ _

__He looks awful _, Martin realized. His hair was a mess, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like freshly purpled bruises. He’d forgone his usual tie and vest, instead simply wearing a sweater over his dress shirt._ _ _

__

__

__“Aw come on boss!” Tim grinned. He threw an arm over Jon’s shoulders, pulling the smaller man back. It wasn’t all that an unusual gesture for Tim. For it to be directed towards Jon was uncommon, but still, no one expected the result._ _

__One moment, Tim was laughing, holding Jon back and against his side. The next, there was a sharp yelp of pain and Tim was clutching his stomach, where Jon had elbowed him, hard. Jon stepped back, arms held close to his body and chest heaving with short, shallow breaths._ _

__“What the hell Jon?” Tim was back to standing up straight in a second, clearly more shocked than hurt in any way._ _

__“Sorry.” The word was quick and barely more than a whisper and just like that, Jon retreated to his office, the door closing with a quiet click._ _

__“Wh.. what?” Tim threw his hands up in a false-surrender. “Well okay then.”_ _

__“Tim,” Martin finally spoke._ _

__“Did you see tha—”_ _

__“Just drop it,” Martin said. “You didn’t do anything wrong but just, drop it.”_ _

__

__Checking on Jon was the right thing to do, Martin had decided, a new cup of tea for him in hand. That was what you did when someone was upset. You checked on them. You put a hand on their shoulder and asked if they were alright and if they wanted to talk about it._ _

__“Hey, Jon?” Martin knocked on the office door. It was 10:30 now — a full hour and a half after Jon had arrived at the Archives. So maybe, Martin thought, whatever that was this morning wasn’t even relevant anymore._ _

__“Come in.” The response was quiet and monotone. The door squealed as Martin stepped inside and then there was Jon, sifting through a pile of statements and not looking up._ _

__“I brought you some tea.” Martin smiled. Jon peered over the papers at that._ _

__“Oh. Thank you”_ _

__“It’s no trouble.” He passed Jon the mug and their fingers brushed. His heart fluttered. Dammit._ _

__Jon took a sip of his tea. He told Martin it was good and Martin couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face. Then they stood in comfortable silence, one in which Martin couldn’t help but notice that Jon still looked just as tired as he had earlier._ _

__“Do you need anything?”_ _

__“Hm?”_ _

__“You came in here,” Jon said. His tone was curt and formal. “Was there anything you needed or?”_ _

__“No, uh, I just wanted to check in.” Martin shrugged. Jon peered up at him, one eyebrow raised._ _

__“Check in on what?”_ _

__“You.”_ _

__“Oh.” Jon froze. Martin’s face grew hot as Jon stared down at his desk, lips pursed. He hadn’t meant to say that. “Why?”_ _

__“Um, well, you were… acting differently this morning.” Martin winced. “I was worried.”_ _

__“Huh,” Jon bit his tongue, reflecting on the little incident with Tim. “Well, I’m quite alright. There’s no need to worry.”_ _

__“Are you sure? Cause if you need to talk I’m— we’re all here.” God, this was far more awkward then Martin ever predicted it would be. But then again what did he expect? For him to walk through the door with a cup of tea and have Jon bare his heart for him. It was stupid. It was fully possible that absolutely nothing else was going on besides Tim just happening to startle Jon this morning. Yeah, Martin was fussing over nothing._ _

__“Yes.” A pause. “Yes, I’m sure, I’m just stressed,” Jon said, and now his grip was tightening around his cup._ _

__“Cause of Prentiss?” Martin guessed. It was all he could guess, really. It dawned on him that he didn’t know the first thing about Jon. As far as Martin was aware, he didn’t even have a life outside the institute._ _

__“No,” Jon started, then clenched his teeth, willing the word to be overlooked. Though of course, it was not._ _

__“Okay well,” Martin rested a hand on Jon’s desk, leaning down as Jon stared intently into his drink. “Do you want to talk about it?”_ _

__“No. No, it’s quite alright,” Jon said, his voice was softer now. “I just… I just don’t like being touched, that’s all.” He seemed to struggle around the word touched like it was foreign to his tongue. As if it would burn him were he not careful._ _

__Then there was that second silence, the one where Jon’s breaths shook and Martin shuffled his feet._ _

__“Alright,” Martin had said, and then at Jon’s cue, he left. Martin mentioned it to Tim around lunch, who simply nodded, confused but understanding. That was the first thing on what Martin liked to think of as the list of things he and Jon didn’t talk about._ _

__The second was when Jane Prentiss happened._ _

__“There’s a corkscrew under my pillow.” Martin’s hand trembled. It hovered just inches above Jon’s face, which twisted in pain as small, silver worms burrowed their way into his cheek. He knew this would happen. Well, that something like this would happen. But now that they were here his heart was pounding so hard he was sure the others could hear it._ _

__“What? Why?” Sasha’s voice was raised. She held Jon’s arm, having forced up his sleeve, trying to dig her nails into the worms and pull them out the same way she’d removed the one burrowed into her arm just moments before. She secured her grip on one and tugged. Jon yelled._ _

__Martin grabbed her wrist. “To get the worms out.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“To get the worms out faster and hopefully without hurting him as much, now just go grab it,” Martin said, and Sasha’s eyes trailed over his hand gripped on Jon’s shoulder._ _

__“Fine.”_ _

__It wasn’t as if Sasha really went anywhere. She just stood and took a few steps across the room, but as soon as she was out of Martin’s field-of-view he tightened his grip on Jon._ _

__“It’s going to be fine,” Martin said. “We’re gonna get these worms out of you and Prentiss will leave eventually and then this will all be over.” He took a breath, not sure if he was trying to assure himself or comfort Jon. God, Jon… Martin could feel him shaking. Whether it was from pain or fear was a question, but either way, it made Martin’s heart ache._ _

__Jon actually laughed then. It was a breathy, forced laugh paired with a smile that far more closely resembled a grimace than anything else. Then, for just a moment, Jon’s eyes flicked to the hand perched on his shoulder._ _

__“Oh sorry.” Martin swiftly retracted his hand, the memories flooding back. “This must be hell for you,” he mumbled. Jon shrugged weakly._ _

__“I’ve got it!” Sasha held the corkscrew above her head in triumph. Then quickly went back to crouch beside Martin. “Okay so…” She grabbed Jon’s wrist, focused on a worm, and counted down from 3._ _

__Jon swore as she fought the creature out, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists and his eyes squeezing shut. Martin’s stomach churned as the worm slid out, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Jon slouched over, panting._ _

__“Fuck,” he breathed, arms going limp at his sides. For a moment, Martin was going to reach towards him. He was going to intertwine their fingers and he was going to mumble reassurances. But then, he remembered, that would almost definitely make Jon feel worse._ _

__“Are you alright?” He settled on saying instead._ _

__“I have worms in me, Martin.”_ _

__“You know what I mean.”_ _

__Jon leaned back, eyes closed, and rested his head against the wall behind him. “Just get the rest out.”_ _

__So, that’s what they did. Well, what Martin did. Sasha handed him the corkscrew after pulling out three, saying that he would probably do a better job, which was arguably true._ _

__Martin was rolling up Jon’s pantlegs, having finished with his arms when Jon spoke._ _

__“Wait,” he said. Martin immediately lifted his hands._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“Get the ones on my face first, I’m afraid they might,” a pause. Jon wrinkled his nose. “I’m afraid they might burrow through into my mouth.”_ _

__“Gross.” Sasha grimaced, sticking her tongue out. Martin nodded._ _

__“Yeah, yeah that makes sense.” He leaned forward, raising a hand. He let his hand hover over Jon’s jaw “I’m going to put my hand here, okay?”_ _

__Jon nodded, however slightly._ _

__“Okay,” Martin said. He’d been giving those little warnings since every time he touched Jon since the whole Tim Incident, not that it was often. But it was the least he could do really, knowing about Jon’s reservations with physical contact. The extent of those reservations was a mystery. Perhaps the worms had even cancelled them out? Martin could imagine it would for himself, though he was pretty hands-on as far as people go._ _

__His actions barely even occurred to him when he leaned in close, Jon’s face cupped in his hands. If it weren’t for all the worms, Martin’s heart would be speeding for reasons other than fear._ _

__At first, he could feel Jon’s breath on his face, warm and prickling his skin. Then as Martin shifted his hand on Jon’s jaw, ready to raise the corkscrew, the breathing abruptly stopped._ _

__Jon’s eyes were glassy, his lips pulled into a thin line. Martin let his gaze flick down and there were Jon’s hands, clasped together at his stomach with his fingernails digging into his skin._ _

__Shit.__

__

__

__

__

__Martin knew all he could do was take the worms out faster. They needed to come out somehow and he couldn’t exactly get them to do that without touching Jon, but he couldn’t stop the guilt that balled in his chest._ _

__“You’re safe, Jon,” he settled on saying. It was a bullshit lie that made Sasha blank at him, but it wasn’t meant for her, and he wasn’t talking about the worms._ _

__Jon closed his eyes, but Martin felt a trembling breath graze his cheek._ _

__Good.__

__

__

__

__

__

__Jane Prentiss was dead. The worms were dead. Martin found Gertrude Robinson dead in the tunnels. He zipped up his suitcase and sighed. He was finally moving back home._ _

__It was strange, really. It didn’t occur to him how well everything went for him until Jon was sitting in front of him afterwards, flicking on a tape recorder and demanding a statement._ _

__“The painkillers are wearing off,” he had admitted, shrugging at the bandages wrapped around every one of his limbs._ _

__“Go home Jon,” Martin instructed, guilt balling in his chest. That was stupid. He shouldn’t feel guilty, but still. Maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe if he hadn’t abandoned everyone back in the tunnels..._ _

__“And stay home for a while, please,” he added, “don’t come back until you are actually better.”_ _

__Jon had nodded, but of course, he hadn’t actually listened._ _

__

__“It’s been two weeks.”_ _

__“Exactly.” He tried to get inside again, but Martin held out his arms, blocking the door. “I’m behind with the statements, Martin.”_ _

__“And? They’re just files, Jon. They’ll wait for you,” Martin pursed his lips, “no one’s going to fault you for being a little behind.”_ _

__Jon sighed, raised a hand to brace himself on the wall beside them. He still could barely use one of his legs — the one where the worm had burrowed in right below his kneecap. Martin could’ve sworn the doctors had given him a cane, but it was nowhere in sight now._ _

__Goddammit, Jon._ _

__“That’s, this isn’t about being...” he rubbed a hand over his brow. “It’s just — can you let me in?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Martin.”_ _

__“No, I’m not letting you in. You need to go back home.” Martin’s heart hammered against his ribs. He wasn’t going to lose this one. Jon needed to rest._ _

__But still, he didn’t want to make him angry. The thought of doing so made him feel sick, but so far it was fine. Jon didn’t look mad. He was annoyed, sure, but not angry._ _

__“Can you at least let me grab some statements? To take home?”_ _

__“Yes,” Martin’s hands fell to his sides and he turned back to walk into the archives. “Fine just sit down for a minute, Christ.”_ _

__“Alright.”_ _

__

__Martin ran a finger over the file-packed shelves, looking for something mundane; something that would record digitally._ _

__Jon was slumped against the wall by the door, sat on the hardwood and clutching his knee. He’d driven here, apparently and that along with the many flights of stairs it took to get to the archives really messed him up._ _

__Stupid. _Martin’s heart ached. _Jon, why are you like this?____

__

__

__He’d probably be here for a while now to rest. Martin might even have to help him get back home. He’d call a taxi for him. Jon could come back and get his car when he was feeling better._ _

__“Okay.” Martin slipped some statements in an envelope. “I’ve got six of them here, and you’re not getting any more.”_ _

__“Thank you.” Jon forced himself to sit up straight as Martin handed him the files. He sifted through them quickly, making sure that they were, in fact, present._ _

__“It’s no problem,” Martin sighed, “just… You need to take care of yourself, Jon. Please.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__Martin nearly laughed._ _

__“Well, then why don’t you do it?”_ _

__Jon simply shrugged, wincing as he pulled himself to his feet. There was a hiss of pain and he braced himself against the wall._ _

__“I do what I have to.”_ _

__“Do you? And what you have to do is drag yourself to work because?” He stepped towards Jon, watching him struggle. Martin sighed. “Do you need a hand?”_ _

__Silence._ _

__“Let’s not have that conversation now.” Jon closed his eyes. He hesitated. “And yes, a hand would be… appreciated.”_ _

__Martin nodded and Jon tensed as he looped an arm around his waist._ _

__“Is this alright?” There was a higher note to Martin’s voice._ _

__“It’s fine,” Jon spoke through grit teeth. Martin frowned, but he didn’t dare argue._ _

__

__The halls of the institute felt almost abandoned as he led Jon towards the exit. The stairs were a struggle, with Jon having to hop up every step._ _

__“Shit.” He accidentally put too much weight on his bad leg. Martin tightened his grip on his side._ _

__“Y’ know.” Red crept into Martin’s cheeks. “I could carry you the rest of the way up if you want?”_ _

__Jon went still._ _

__“I mean!” Martin coughed out a laugh. “If it would help! Like, y’ know I can see you’re in pain and I mean I know you don’t like people touching you anyway but I figured I would at least offer... “ _Christ, Martin. What are you saying? Why would you say that? Just stop talking._ __

__

__

__“You can try.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“You can try to… carry me. My leg does hurt, and I mean there’s no one here so,” Jon bit at the inside of his cheek, “it’s logical.”_ _

__Martin blinked._ _

__“Oh, okay.” He took his arm from around Jon’s waist. This didn’t feel real — standing in the empty halls of the Magnus Institute with Martin about to pick Jon up and carry him._ _

__Jon stared at him, expectantly._ _

__“Yes, right. Okay.” Martin bent down awkwardly and slid an arm behind Jon’s knees, the other finding its place around his shoulders._ _

__He was lighter than expected, Martin thought, once he had hoisted Jon upward, holding him bridal style. Jon was tense, impressively so. He folded into himself as Martin steadied himself on the stairs, not about to let himself hurt Jon even more._ _

__“You’re stronger than I thought you were,” Jon observed as he climbed the stairs, his voice quiet and vulnerable. Martin smiled, giving an awkward half-laugh._ _

__“It’s not like you’re that heavy,” he said, inwardly battling with the butterflies in his stomach. Jon usually kept his hair pulled back in a bun, but today it had been left down. The hair tickled Martin’s forearm as he held him, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run his fingers through it._ _

__He wouldn’t do that though, obviously. He didn’t want to make Jon uncomfortable. God, he was holding Jon, and he was warm against his chest, and he was gripping Martin’s shoulder to keep himself steady, and Martin could feel him breathing. Yes, his body was dotted with scars and yes, it hurt him to walk, but he was here, alive, and Martin was holding him close. He adjusted the hand around Jon’s shoulders._ _

__“Put me down.” The words came quickly. They were whispered and laced with anxiety, but they were clear. They were spoken as a demand, one that Martin hadn’t even fully registered when he let Jon’s feet fall against the floor._ _

__They hadn’t gotten all the way up the stairs, but they were close enough that Jon immediately hurried up the rest of them upon being freed. Martin’s arms went limp as Jon turned away from him, wringing his hands together._ _

__“Jon?” Martin frowned, “are you alright?”_ _

__Jon pulled at his hair._ _

__“You said you would call me a taxi?”_ _

__“Huh?”_ _

__“You said you didn’t want me driving back to my flat,” Jon repeated, “and that you’d give me money for a taxi?”_ _

__“Oh, yeah, of course.” Martin pursed his lips, digging into his pockets for his wallet. Jon remained with his back turned and shoulders raised._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Martin said._ _

__“Why are you apologizing? You’re helping me.” Jon’s voice was monotone. Martin sighed. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Jon was feigning his ignorance, but he also knew this particular interaction was quickly finding itself a place on their unspoken list._ _

__“No reason,” Martin said. He pulled out his wallet._ _

__

__Kidnapped. The word rang through Martin’s head like a clock bell — silent for however long before ringing out. It screamed. Repeated itself. The same stomach-churning phrases._ _

__Jon was kidnapped.__

__

__

__

__

__Jon was kidnapped and he didn’t even know about it.__

__

__

__

__

__Jon was kidnapped and for an entire month and Martin barely considered he might be in danger.__

__

__

__

__

__Jon was kidnapped and might have died.__

__

__

__

__

__All of it came out at once, rushing out of Martin’s mouth barely coherent. He tried to say he was sorry, and that he didn’t even know, and he should have known or at least suspected something was wrong._ _

__But he didn’t say those things, because Jon started comforting him. He said it was alright, and that Martin didn’t do anything wrong. It was all backwards. Not because Jon was saying anything wrong, no, but because Jon was the one calming Martin down, despite him being the one who was held captive for a month._ _

__Martin didn’t say that either though. He and Jon just had a few minutes of stilted conversation._ _

__Jon was going to leave again. Of course, he was going to put himself right back in danger._ _

__The tape recorder clicked off and Jon stood there, staring at it._ _

__He was distant, with that same glassy look to his eyes he’d shook himself out of just moments before when he’d been talking about Orsinov._ _

__“Seriously, Jon. Are you really alright? Because, well,” Martin drew in a breath, “I have trouble believing you’re okay as you say you are… It’s not that I don’t trust you though. I do! It’s just...”_ _

__Jon shrugged, eyes locked with the tape recorder. He opened his mouth, then closed it._ _

__“I…” He reached for his hair, lips stretching into a sad smile. “I, well I don’t quite know to be honest. Hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”_ _

__“Yeah.” Martin bit the inside of his cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?” he offered. It was the least he could do and honestly? Part of him just wanted to talk to Jon for a little longer. He hadn’t exactly been around much lately, after all._ _

__“No. Or maybe?” Jon squeezed his hands together, staring at them, considering something. “Yes actually. Sure I’ll… I’ll talk about it.”_ _

__“Okay.” Martin blinked. He’d asked that question before. He’d asked it many times actually, but he never received an answer short of a curt no._ _

__Jon was staring at him expectantly, hands awkwardly folded together. His mouth opened and closed again, then again._ _

__Oh.__

__

__

__

__

__He doesn’t know how to start.__

__

__

__

__

__“You mentioned that thing with Orsinov? With your… skin,” Martin kept his voice soft, trying to force a comforting smile. Jon’s gaze darted away._ _

__“Yes. I did mention that. I uh, I believe she was planning to skin me.” He gave a short laugh, letting himself focus on a small crack on the dark, hardwood floor._ _

__Christ, Jon. Martin bit his tongue, feeling his stomach drop._ _

__“They wanted to get my skin into better condition,” his lips parted in a pained smile, “so they never hurt me. So it was fine. Could’ve been a lot worse, really. It was just long and uncomfortable — being tied to that chair. It hurt, and they’d also… it’s hm… well, they’d uh, moisturize me I guess.”_ _

__Jon tangled his fingers in his hair._ _

__“It’s stupid. Really stupid. But it’s just… I couldn’t see or talk or move and there were hands all over me and… nothing happened. No, it was nothing like _that. _I was just scared I guess, well, I knew — thought I was going to die and all there was were their hands and the chair and those ropes holding me still. I just... “_ _ __

__

__

__His breathing was ragged, voice edging on higher tones as he looked into a ghost; the back of the blindfold he swore was still pressed against his eyelids._ _

__“Jon,” Martin whispered. Jon was dead-still, his face hidden behind his hair. If he could have responded then, he didn’t dare try._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Martin said, “I’m so, so sorry.”_ _

__Jon's breaths were slow, barely audible things that struggled for composure._ _

__“You’re here now though, in the archives with me,” he soothed, praying that his words were enough. “That’s all over now Jon. So now you're here and no one is going to hurt you, I promise. You’re safe now.”_ _

__Jon nodded. He dragged his hands from his hair, instead resting his face in his palms._ _

__Silence. Just Martin sat still watching Jon begin to tremble until eventually, his shoulders shook._ _

__Jon had been kidnapped. He’d been kidnapped and Martin had barely so much as worried. Martin hadn’t even known until earlier today when Jon returned, shaken but holding up an illusion of togetherness.__

__

__

__

__

__Now Jon was crying and Martin knew. He was there watching it._ _

__He raised a hand, let it hover over Jon’s shoulder before retracting it again._ _

__“Jon?” he tried._ _

__“Yeah?” the response came slowly and in a cracked, wavering tone that made Martin’s heart twist._ _

__“Do…” he knew the answer before he even said it. “Do you want a hug?”_ _

__“No,” Jon’s voice was a whisper. “Just, be here… please?”_ _

__“Yeah. Of course.”_ _

__They stood in silence, aside from the occasional sniffle from Jon, who let himself lean against the wall, sliding down until he was a teary heap on the floor. Martin joined him there, arms folded over his knees as his chest ached until Jon uttered a weak “thank you” and wiped his eyes._ _

__Then he left, wordlessly. He slipped right out the room, leaving Martin on the floor by himself because that moment, whatever it was, had ended and now neither of them would talk about it ever again._ _

__Martin almost brought it up this time, though. It was right before The Unknowing — before everyone left. He almost pulled Jon aside to just check on him and make sure that he was okay and that he was ready for this._ _

__Really though, he just wanted to talk to Jon one more time, but he didn’t. The next time they talked Jon was in a coma._ _

__“Hey, how are you today?”_ _

__Silence._ _

__“Yeah, that’s fair… Things have been weird at the archives, to say the least.”_ _

__He was so still. His chest didn’t rise and fall from quiet breaths and not so much as a finger twitched as Martin spoke. His hands rested beside him, palm-side up._ _

__“Elias is in jail. We’ve got this new guy, Peter Lukas. He, well, he’s taken a liking to me.”_ _

__The consistent, quiet buzz of the AC seemed deafening._ _

__“I,” Martin sighed, “I really need you to wake up, Jon… we all do.”_ _

__He bit the inside of his cheek._ _

__“Well, not right now though. Not if you don’t want to. You can take your time, but please just, wake up eventually.”_ _

__His heart twisted. _Fuck it. _He grabbed Jon’s hand, the burn-scarred skin cold against his own, but not dead-cold. No, the slightest hint of body heat rose from it. Martin tightened his grip, letting that slight heat ground him within the sea of that sharp, sterile smell of the hospital room._ _ __

__

__

__That had been the first time he held Jon’s hand. The second time the air had smelled of salt and the sand under his shoes was far less solid than the spotless linoleum floor._ _

__He hadn’t registered it at first. He’d been entranced by the endless ocean before him; by the waves that lapped at his feet and by it’s depths, devoid of any life._ _

__The water wouldn’t be cold. He knew that despite not touching it. It would be lukewarm and comfortable, and it wouldn’t hurt as it filled his lungs. He would be able to breathe around it and simply float, safe and utterly alone._ _

__“I see you, Jon,” he did not remember turning to him, but he felt something then, in his chest, like a string being cut, “I see you.”_ _

__Then he was being led home, or to wherever Jon thought home to be. The archives? Martin guessed, though it didn’t matter. It would be home._ _

__Jon’s grip was unyielding to the point it almost hurt, but it was stabilizing, and as Martin’s hand closed around his it seemed to clear the residual fog in his eyes._ _

__Everything was different after The Lonely. They ran away together, making themselves at home in Daisy’s old cabin and adjusting to the newfound safety. That list of things they didn’t talk about crumbled. It was clumsy but wonderful, and there were many days where Martin woke up with Jon cuddled against his chest._ _

__“We do need to get up,” he mumbled as Martin pressed a kiss to his hair._ _

__“Says who?”_ _

__“Me,” Jon said, “as comfortable as this is, I am overheating.”_ _

__“Fair enough,” Martin smiled and lifted an arm, letting Jon wriggle away and kick the blankets down to his waist. He made no effort to actually get out of bed._ _

__“Do you want to go for a walk later?”_ _

__“Sure” Martin smiled, absently reaching out to run his fingers through Jon’s hair. They never talked about these moments either, never stopping to define what it was between them. Though, Martin assumed they both had the same idea._ _

__Jon leaned into Martin’s touch. He was smiling, too, making Martin’s heart flutter. He wished it could always be like this._ _

__Though, of course, it was not._ _

__The next day Martin woke up cold, and with the other side of the bed notably abandoned. It was one of those days._ _

__He found Jon on the couch, staring into the crackling fireplace._ _

__“Needed space?” Martin guessed._ _

__“Needed space.”_ _

__“Ah,” a slight pause, “you need anything?”_ _

__“No, I’m,” Jon squeezed the blanket on his lap, “I’m starting to feel better now actually.”_ _

__“That’s good.”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“Can I sit with you?”_ _

__“Of course.”_ _

__Careful to keep enough distance between them, Martin settled beside Jon on the couch._ _

__Overall, he looked more alive than Martin had seen him in years, but this particular issue was one that persisted, leaving him drained and easily startled. It was also something Martin didn’t even understand the start of._ _

__Everything that had happened in the past few years was one obvious root, but it went deeper than that. This started long before they so much as learned what the institute really was._ _

__“You have a question?”_ _

__“Hm?” Martin blinked. “Wait, did you look into my—”_ _

__“No,” Jon shook his head, “I guessed… you were staring at me really hard.”_ _

__“Oh… Well, I was just wondering why this happens.” He gestured vaguely towards Jon. “You don’t have to answer though.”_ _

__“No, I’ll tell you.”_ _

__Martin stared at him. “You will?”_ _

__“It’s not that long of a story.” Jon shrugged, “and I guess I’m in a sharing mood. Plus, considering our… relationship, you probably should know.”_ _

__“Oh, well alright.” Martin watched as he folded his hands in his lap._ _

__“So, I’ve told you that I was raised by my grandmother, correct?” he started._ _

__“Yeah.” Martin nodded. Jon took a breath._ _

__“There was this boy. I don’t remember his name. Daniel maybe? Thomas? I don’t know. He was 9 or 10 years older than me, and he helped my grandmother with the occasional odd job. He also took it upon himself to torment me. I don’t fully blame him for it. I was an insufferable child, and the name-calling was fine. It wasn’t that bad, really. But then he’d… beat me sometimes. Not often, but enough to leave me with a few scars.”_ _

__“God…” Martin whispered. There was a small, pained smile spread across Jon’s face as he spoke._ _

__“That kid saved my life though.” He gave a short laugh. “I watched him get eaten by a Leitner that otherwise… would have taken me. A Guest for Mr. Spider, it was called. I watched as giant spider-legs pulled him into it. That’s it, really. It’s nothing big compared to everything else we’ve seen by now, but I was 8, so it stuck with me I guess.”_ _

__Martin sighed. “So that’s why you decided to work at the institute?”_ _

__“Yes.” Jon let himself rest against the back of the couch. “I was starting to get a lot better around the time I got sent to the archives, actually. Then of course, when things started to go downhill I was back to being scared a big spider was going to grab me out of nowhere, or that someone was going to hurt me. The latter actually ended up happening quite a lot so…”_ _

__“Yeah,” Martin breathed, “I’m, I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Don’t apologize."_ _

__The fire crackled in front of them, filling the stretch of silence._ _

__“Do you feel better now?"_ _

__"A little." Jon shrugged. "I do... believe talking helped somewhat."_ _

__"I'm glad."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked my fic! It's the first one I've written since i deleted everything on this account a few years ago. 
> 
> If you want you can follow me on Tumblr! I'm [jurgenfuckingleitner](https://jurgenfuckingleitner.tumblr.com/) on there, and I'll be spending my time yelling about season 5.


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